


You Change My Mind

by AkashaTheKitty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Dubious Consent, F/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 12:11:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16387484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkashaTheKitty/pseuds/AkashaTheKitty
Summary: Sometimes, your enemy is the only friend you have. Other times, he is no friend at all. When you have absolutely no one to turn to, can you turn to the one who is theoretically the cause of it? Or will he then try and turn you against everything you believe?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was first posted as part of a birthday challenge on the now defunct site Granger Enchanted in 2007.
> 
> The work is posted as is, no edits.
> 
> Sadly I don't recall who made the banner. I want to say Little Dollface did it? But I could be wrong. I mean no harm, it's been so long. But I still think the banner is lovely.

 

Hermione glared in what she believed to be the general direction of her captors and tried to hide her fear. This wasn’t supposed to be happening to her. She wasn’t supposed to be the damsel in distress. She wasn’t supposed to just be snatched away from her friends like this. She wasn’t supposed to be caught by  _them._

And it was really all her own fault.

She shouldn’t have wandered off on her own. She knew this; she had known it even as she did it. She just felt so confined; never able to just leave, never able to go for a walk on her own, never able to just have a moment of privacy. It had been this way for much longer than she cared to remember, and she’d felt so sick of it all. She had just wanted to go for a walk; it was hardly something worth dying for.

Yet, now she might.

“On your knees, Mudblood,” someone growled in her ear and she received a kick to the back of her knees that made her legs buckle.

She didn’t know where she was. They had taken her wand, bound her and Disapparated with her to the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere. There, they had used a Conjunctivitis Curse on her, making her vision darken completely, before they hauled off with her. All she knew, all she could feel, was that after some time of walking they had now entered a building.

_They_  were Death Eaters, of course. She hadn’t known them on sight, but she knew enough to know what they were. They had looked at her with such hatred and disgust that she was quite frankly stunned to still be alive. If they knew who she was there was little to be had in the way of hope. Damn her, why had she been so reckless today?

She tamped down a feeling of panic. Whatever happened, it couldn’t be good, she knew that, but there was no point in panicking prematurely. She would endure what she had to and she would die before betraying Harry. She would –

“Why does it not look at me?” someone hissed and Hermione’s blood ran cold at the tone. She felt the curse being lifted and her vision returning. She blinked a few times. “Excellent,” the voice said, and Hermione looked up, unable to stifle a gasp.

There was Voldemort himself, smiling at her, seemingly pleased with her reaction.

Hermione looked around her. The room she was in was large and luxurious but oddly lacking in furniture. The only chair in the room was Voldemort’s impressive throne-like chair in front of which she was currently kneeling. She glanced at her captors, who were holding themselves in subservient poses, staring at the floor.

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here, Mudblood,” Voldemort said in what was probably his most pleasant tone. He stopped expectantly and Hermione realized that he was actually waiting for her to respond.

“It had crossed my mind,” she weakly said. What was she supposed to say? There was a room full of people, eyeing her, looking like they just needed an excuse to kill her.

He smiled again. It was as if this was all some sort of play and he was the puppeteer. “I would like you to help me,” he said. “Doing so would please me immensely and perhaps it could prompt me to be… more understanding of your predicament.”

His gaze was steady and she knew what he was doing. Without a second thought she put up the walls that most people in the Order had been taught to erect these days. Occlumency had become necessary for their continued survival; even Harry had finally managed to learn some.

“That’s… nice,” she replied as if nothing had occurred.

She broke the eye contact as soon as it wouldn’t be suspicious to do so and sized up the room and the few black-robed figures looming about in the shadows that she could see from her position. There was no way out for her. She would be  _Avada Kedavra_ ’d at least twelve times before she even reached the door.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at her and then suddenly seemed to make a decision, calling out, “Draco!”

Hermione’s eyes widened. Surely, the rumors weren’t true. Surely, Draco Malfoy hadn’t taken his father’s place at the—

“Yes, my Lord?” a smooth voice said as an unmistakable blond man stepped forward. Hermione felt a pang of sadness. Draco had never been nice as a boy, but she didn’t think he had been truly evil, either, and she’d always felt that there’d been hope for him.

She supposed that sometimes hope wasn’t enough.

“You know what to do,” Voldemort said. “She’s yours.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she considered whether now was a good time to panic. If Draco was indeed one of Voldemort’s trusted followers now, then she could possibly look forward to many hours of pain as he got his retaliation for every petty little slight that he perceived to have received from her and her friends over the years.

Draco bowed slightly at the serpentine Dark Lord and nodded at Hermione’s captors, who then dragged her to her feet and carted her off.

“What do you think?” Voldemort asked after she was gone. “Will she be amenable?”

Draco considered. “She’s stubborn and loyal to a fault, but I can do it.”

Voldemort nodded. “See that you do.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione was pacing. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like this one bit. Something was just not right.

For one thing, she was alive.

For another, she was unharmed.

And it had been ten days. Ten whole days! Or, well, she thought it had.

She had expected to be thrown in a dungeon. Somewhere dark and dank with chains. She hadn’t been. She had been given a bedroom. Granted, it was an odd bedroom. It had been stripped of everything but a lamp, a desk with a chair, an armchair, a bed and a blanket. The floors were carpeted, though, even if the walls were bare. She could feel why, as the cold was creeping in at night. There was a small connecting bathroom with a toilet, a sink and a tub. Again there were only the bare necessities – a toothbrush, toothpaste, towels, and a bar of soap.

The soap had lately been employed in doing some emergency laundry. Ten days in the same clothes really didn’t agree with anyone, but Hermione took great care in always staying somewhat decent. You never knew, and she certainly wasn’t about to give anyone any ideas. Not that her antics were likely from keeping such ideas from happening if they were going to… but still.

She couldn’t see anything but darkness when she looked out the window. Some spell had been cast on it to block out the view. She counted the days by her meals and she had been given 29 meals so far, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the meals were given at a more or less random interval. In the beginning, she hadn’t touched the food at all, but after a while she realized that she was only punishing herself and, besides, eating was at least something to do.

She hadn’t seen another human being in all of that time. All she saw was a house elf bringing her the tray at mealtimes, or, once, changing her bed linen, but she had given up on trying to communicate with it. It kept its eyes averted and never said a word. She couldn’t get close to it, either; it seemed to have some sort of magical shield surrounding it.

Figuring out that there was no escaping, through neither the window nor the door, hadn’t taken her more than an hour. There were too many wards. Figuring out that she couldn’t smash the mirror in the bathroom, either, had only taken a few minutes. Of course she couldn’t. There was no fireplace, which helped in making the room rather cold, and there was not a lot she could do save from strangling herself with her blanket, which she couldn’t even do effectively. These people were many things, but stupid was unfortunately not one of them.

There was nothing to do with her time. Hermione realized that complaining about being bored wasn’t exactly prudent, but with nothing to do, nothing to look at, nothing to occupy her mind… her imagination was working overtime. Why were they keeping her here? What did they plan to do with her? How painful would her death be?

She was so busy fretting that she almost didn’t hear the door open.

Draco stepped inside the room, closing the door with a soft click. Yes, she seemed more than ready to begin. She looked disheveled, her hair in tangles, her clothes rumpled and… her feet bare? He smirked. Perhaps even oh-so-perfect Mudblood girls got smelly socks if they had to keep them on long enough. She had obviously been pacing, before he entered, and now she looked at him warily. Good. She had reason to be wary.

He sat down in the armchair and looked at her pensively. How to go about this the best way?

“W-what do you want?” Hermione asked.

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. Now wasn’t that a loaded question to ask your Death Eater captor? “Information would be nice,” he suggested.

She raised her chin defiantly and looked him straight in the eye. “You aren’t getting any, so you might as well kill me now!”

He’d suspected as much, but merely tutted. “Inviting your enemies to kill you is not a very wise move, Granger.”

“Are you?” she asked, sadness in her eyes and voice.

“Am I what?”

“My enemy?”

He leaned back. This might be easier than he’d thought. “Well, that’s entirely up to you, Granger,” he replied.

She shook her head incomprehensively. “How can that be?”

“It’s simple, really. I can make your life very pleasant here or—“

“Or you can make my life a living Hell,” she interrupted. “I got that part. But don’t you people see? I’ll never betray the Order!”

“Never is a very long time,” Draco said. “I wouldn’t be so fast to make those kinds of statements.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Hermione said with a degree of loathing in her eyes that took him slightly aback.

“I brought you something,” he said, deciding it was time to change the subject.

That seemed to surprise her. He hid another smirk.

“Why?” she asked.

Why and not what? Well, he supposed that women might be slightly different once you took them prisoner and they were under the threat of loss of life and limb. He took out the parcel and threw it at her; she caught it instinctively before it brained her.

“Open it,” he said.

Glancing at him she did as instructed. It was a book. It was actually a very good book, albeit a bit dry. It was about the general wizarding stance on assorted muggle-wars and how some muggleborn wizards and witches had chosen to fight unseen using magic. There were even detailed accounts of the ensuing legal proceedings and inevitable punishments. He knew she’d like it even if it did stress that the muggleborns had been wrong.

He’d considered bringing her other things first, but he knew her priorities and he knew that the book would please her the most. It would even please her more than a hairbrush, which, he made a note to himself, he’d better bring her next time, before her hair grew a life of its own.

She stared at the book for a few long seconds and then she looked up at him again, her expression unfathomable. “Why?” she asked again.

She was beginning to annoy him. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “It’s a book. You like bloody books. If you don’t want it then give it back.”

She hugged the book protectively to her chest. So she did want it? Good.

“I don’t bite,” he said as gently as he could manage. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t get along.”

“Other than the fact that I won’t help you in any way,” she said defensively.

He made a dismissive hand gesture. “We’ll worry about that later.”

Her eyes grew suspicious and her gaze flickered to the door. He would love to know what was going on inside that bushy little head of hers.

“Nobody will harm you,” he said. “Not as long as you and I stay… friends.”

Her eyes flew back to him as he spoke, and her hands tightened on the book. He thought her glance hardened when he said the word ‘friends’, but her expression went blank so fast that he couldn’t be sure.

“I see,” she carefully said.

He suppressed the urge to sigh. For a first meeting, it had actually gone surprisingly well. She wasn’t in hysterics or crying or trying to claw his eyes out. That pleased him. Unforgiveable Curses really did very little to promote trust and friendship.

He got up. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said, going to the door. She made a little sound and he turned towards her with his eyebrows raised.

“That’s it?” she asked in a small voice.

He smirked. “That’s it.” Then he was gone.

Hermione scowled at the closed door. She wasn’t sure what to make of this. Draco Malfoy had never been civil to her even once, so it was more than obvious that he was up to something. It wasn’t quite as obvious what it was he was up to. If he merely wanted information, then there were faster ways to get it than giving her books, that was for sure.

She looked down on the volume in her hands. Wizards in muggle-wars. Drat. Why did he have to actually give her a book that she wanted to read?


	3. Chapter 3

Again, days went by without anyone visiting Hermione. This time she minded less. She had her book, and she was doing her best to savor it. After 10 meals, however, she had read it front to back, twice, and again her predicament was nagging at her. What was it they really wanted from her? Why did they leave her alone for so long at a time? And why wasn’t she being questioned and tortured?

… Not that she wanted to be, mind! She was very happy in her not-tortured state. It was just so very unsettling to not know what was happening and why it was happening. The not knowing was killing her. She kept waiting for her friends from the Order to come rescue her, but no one came. She supposed she had to give it time.

Time was a strange thing, though. It was getting increasingly hard to be sure that her sense of time was not playing tricks on her. With no daylight and no regularity whatsoever, she was already beginning to lose track. She had little else to do, though, so she still tried to keep an estimate, going by meals and times she slept. It did appear that she got about three meals a day and apparently the food wasn’t poisoned, so she was very well off, indeed.

After 46 meals, 17 meals after his last visit, Draco reappeared bringing her a brush and some fresh clothes, including nice warm socks. All of which she sorely needed, but she kept quiet, only acknowledging the things with a glance.

After 53 meals, he brought her another book and some shampoo that smelled like vanilla, of all things.

After 70 meals, and what she perceived to be about 26 days, she didn’t even jump when he entered her room. He brought her three more books. She was really happy about the books, but it annoyed her that he’d picked up on her need to occupy her mind.

She knew what he was doing, but she didn’t know why. He was making her associate his visits with something pleasant. Funny thing was, by now she felt so isolated that she might even welcome a visit from Voldemort himself. Draco never stayed very long, though, and she wouldn’t dream of asking him to. She might be starved for company, but she would as soon ask a Death Eater to stay and chat as she’d ask him for the Avada Kedavra.

After 74 meals… she didn’t expect him. It was hard to tell which meal was what time of day and she’d taken to simply sleeping when she was tired and going about her business. Thinking today too close to his last visit to be cautious, she was just getting out of the bath when he arrived. She hadn’t heard him, so it wasn’t until she looked up she noticed him standing in the bathroom door as if frozen. He was staring at her – and not at her face. She hurriedly wrapped the towel around herself and glared at him, trying hard to hide her fear. He blinked, shook his head, and turned on his heel.

She closed her eyes and leaned against the tiles of the wall, as her heart was hammering in her chest. The bathroom door had been ajar, but it didn’t have a lock, so she couldn’t really have done anything to keep him out if he truly wanted in. There was no use in telling herself that she could have.

She was embarrassed and more than a little frightened too. What was to keep him from attacking her if he should want to? Absolutely nothing. In fact, it was probably expected of him that he took his liberties. It did seem like he wanted her trust, though, so she would have to rely on that fact to keep her safe.

She couldn’t allow something as small as this to cow her, she just couldn’t.

When she emerged from the bathroom, fully clothed, a few minutes later, you would hardly have known that anything had happened.

Draco sauntered over to his armchair and sat down. That had been… interesting. Who knew what that little prissy Mudblood had been hiding under her clothes? Well, ok, he had had a pretty good idea. He wasn’t blind. But, seeing her in all her naked glory had definitely been worth coming here early. He had wanted her, and, for one moment, he had been aware that he could follow through on his want and it would pretty much be his prerogative.

But it was not the Malfoy way.

He did not have to force himself on a Mudblood to get laid, and he was not like some of the Dark Lord’s servants – little better than animals, only thinking about killing, feeding and mating. He could control himself. Besides, her body wasn’t that good, he assured himself; it had merely been a while since he’d last been with a woman. Being in the Dark Lord’s service didn’t really offer many chances for dalliances when one didn’t force oneself on Mudbloods or consort with animals.

Still, he had to admit that the image of her naked form lingered. Maybe he should adjust his plans a bit…

“I brought you something,” he said, waving towards her bed where he had put today’s offerings. More inconsequential stuff to make her feel comfortable. He was well aware that it would take more than that to convince her, though. Just what would be the key, however, still eluded him.

She barely glanced at the stuff. “I’m not your pet to bring treats,” she said.

“But you are,” he replied. “In fact, that’s a very apt description of what you are.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and his gaze automatically lowered. He immediately felt the change in her as she slowly removed her arms and shrank back from him. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that he had the power and she was afraid of the very real threat he was posing. It would have been very naïve of her not to be.

He raised his eyes again and smirked mockingly at her. “That’s not why I’m here.” Not yet, anyway.

She wanted to ask why it was that he was there, then, but she knew it might not be the smartest move. He might feel provoked into some kind of action, and her newest plan was to stall and wait. Wait for Harry to come and get her. He was bound to find her soon.

So, instead of replying, she went to the bed and began putting things away, still shooting wary glances at Draco. He had, among other things, brought her a sweater. His gifts were always confusing her, because she knew he had an ulterior motive, yet he somehow managed to pick up on even the smallest of signs. This room really could get cold. Last time she had worn her one and only decently warm blouse and she had still felt a bit chilled, but she had not wanted to huddle under her blanket with him in the room. She had thought she didn’t show her discomfort at all, yet today there was a sweater and she doubted it was a coincidence.

She glanced at Draco again and caught him watching her. When he saw her look, he smirked at her. She knew he knew that she had pieced together why he’d brought her the stupid sweater, and it annoyed her. With a disgusted grunt she threw it back on the bed.

“You don’t like it?” he softly asked behind her, a vague note of humor in his voice.

He had every right to laugh at her, really. She was Voldemort’s prisoner and any day now she would be tortured and killed unless Harry got off his Chosen Arse to save her. She really couldn’t afford to be nitpicky about sweaters and provoke her Death Eater warden.

“No, it’s fine,” she said, ignoring the offending garment for now.

She turned to find him slightly frowning at her. “You’re not being honest with me,” he stated.

Well, no. Being honest with someone who will just as soon kill you as look at you is not always smart.

“I’m sorry that you think so,” Hermione replied.

He leaned forwards. “You can be honest, you know,” he quietly said. “I’m not a monster.”

“Aren’t you?” she retorted and then immediately regretted it. Damn it. Her plan was to not provoke him.

He leaned back again with a faint smirk on his lips. “No, I am not. I thought I proved that just before.”

Hermione felt her face heat a little. He had a point. The way he had looked at her only moments ago had shown that he had noticed her naked body and he had liked what he saw, but he hadn’t acted on it. Still, just because he hadn’t raped her didn’t mean that he wasn’t up to something evil. He was keeping her here, locked up, for a reason. Suddenly, something dawned on her and she gasped.

“This isn’t about me, is it? You’re trying to lure Harry here!”

He looked vaguely taken aback, but he had a mask of mild amusement in place before she knew what to make of it.

“Changing the subject, Granger?” he asked. “Well… I suppose it would be easier if Potter would just get here so we could get on with it. Not a bad idea, really.” He flashed her a grin.

So she was to believe that that wasn’t the plan? No. And they needed her unharmed to have something to bargain with, she supposed.

She had to get out of there.

He looked at his watch and got up. “I’ll leave you to it then. Only, Granger?”

“Yes?”

“What exactly is it you don’t like about that sweater?”


	4. Chapter 4

Time went by slowly, so very slowly. She had been here at least a month, she was certain of that. A whole month! Her friends must be going crazy with worry. She needed to find a way out, any way out, before they did something reckless and jeopardized everything.

As usual, a few days must have gone by before Draco returned. In the beginning she had wondered what exactly he was doing when he wasn’t visiting her, but she had decided that she didn’t want to know. He was a Death Eater. Nothing good could come from asking that question.

When he did finally come again, he didn’t bring anything. That was a first. She had refused to reply to why she didn’t like the sweater and he seemed to have interpreted it correctly – that him noticing what she wanted unsettled her. But then again, him not bringing her anything was a thing she wanted in itself and he might have picked up on that. Or, perhaps he was merely trying to punish her for her lack of cooperation.

Well, at least she wasn’t overanalyzing things.

“I trust I find you well,” he said pleasantly when sitting down.

Hermione merely rolled her eyes before narrowing them, trying to figure out where he kept his wand in his robes.

“Really, Granger,” he said. “You could at least try to make some decent conversation.”

“About what?” she asked sarcastically. “About all my interesting exploits since you last were here? You know damn well that absolutely nothing happened because these four walls and you are all I ever see!”

He just gazed at her pensively. “Been reading any good books lately?”

She glared at him. “You also know exactly what books I’ve read because you brought them here and you no doubt looked them over to see if there was anything ‘inappropriate’ in them, such as real muggle empathy.”

He grinned at her. “Well, at least you have the honesty thing down better than last time.”

Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d been saying. To him. She must be going out of her mind. She had heard that isolation could do this to people, but she’d held up so well until now that she hadn’t thought that—

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “I find it quite refreshing, really. More interesting than that passive act you’ve been putting on.”

“I’m never getting out of here, am I?” she quietly asked.

This seemed to take him by surprise. Why wouldn’t it? It had come out of the blue. For a moment he hesitated. “There’s no need to think about that,” he finally said. “I’m keeping you comfortable, aren’t I? And if the Dark Lord is pleased…”

“But I’m a Mudblood,” she bitterly retorted. “Your Dark Lord doesn’t tolerate our presence well!”

Again, he seemed to need a moment to come up with a reply. “There’s a few of your kind on our side,” he then said. “We don’t advertise it, but… there you have it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So he wants me to cross over?” The glance Draco shot her told her plenty. “Oh, fat chance,” she said. “I’ll die first!”

He shot out of his chair. “And you will! Have some sense of self-preservation, woman!”

“Self-preservation? If the price of my life is treason, murder and aiding your foul cause, then it’s not worth it!”

He crossed over to her. “You would do well to remember that death is final! It wouldn’t be that bad, you know,” he said, sounding almost urgent. “You could work in the background, you wouldn’t have to actually—“

“Yes, because your Master would understand my predicament and go easy on me. After all, he’s not a monster,” she scathingly said.

Draco actually smiled at her. It was a vague smile, but it was there. “No, he is a monster,” he admitted. “But even he has to work within his limitations. If he didn’t acknowledge the boundaries of people, at least some of the time, then the war would have been over years ago and he would have lost.”

“What a shame that that isn’t the case, then.”

“Perhaps,” Draco conceded, looking down at her. “But this is the world we live in, and we all have to do what we have to do to survive.”

Was he saying that he didn’t really want to be a Death Eater? She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

“Are you expecting me to feel sorry for you?” she asked. “Because you made your—“ she let out a startled cry as he violently grabbed her upper arms, digging his fingers into her soft flesh.

“Never feel sorry for me,” he whispered ominously. “That would be your last mistake.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she gasped. “He still wants me alive.”

“Alive, yes,” he gritted out. “But not necessarily well.” He pushed her away so forcefully that she almost fell and then he wandered back to his chair as if nothing had happened.

“I thought you wanted me to be honest,” she said, fighting hard to keep the shakiness out of her voice.

He smirked at her. “Even honesty has its limits. Now, is there anything you want me to bring next time?”

***

Draco was surprised to find the room in darkness the next time he let himself in a couple of days later. Outside it was no more than two o’clock, but in here it was dark as night and his little Mudblood prisoner was fast asleep. Of course. He smirked slightly. She had not been given a watch, her window had been darkened, and her meals were given at strange intervals to confuse her. Her sense of time would be messed up. Keeping her lonely and confused was important.

He softly closed the door behind him and lighted his wand before slowly walking towards the bed. This was the first time he’d had a chance to just watch her. She looked so very innocent and fragile in her sleep, but he knew that she wasn’t. Neither of them were. All innocence had been robbed from them years ago when they had both suddenly had to grow up and become warriors for their different causes. He suspected that she had probably dealt much better with it than he had at first.

He was much more in control of his emotions these days. That was, when he had any. He still cursed himself for losing his temper with her the last time he was here. He’d laid it on too thick too fast and she’d gotten suspicious and had hit a nerve. One of the few nerves he had left. She was a shrewd one, the little Mudblood, he’d do well not to forget that again.

She mumbled in her sleep and turned her face away from the wandlight, the blanket falling away from her shoulder to reveal that she was sleeping in her underwear. Ah, yes. He hadn’t thought to give her something to sleep in, although he had actually brought her a warmer blanket today. He probably should give her some nightwear next time. He briefly wondered if she would prefer pajamas, nightgowns or – if she hadn’t been so afraid of him – nudity.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and she frowned and tugged her blanket up under her chin. Really, he’d expected her to wake up by now. Didn’t she have any instincts telling her that danger was imminent? She sighed in her sleep and he had to suppose that she didn’t. He frowned slightly. Silly bint. How was it that she was still alive, being so careless and void of instincts?

She must be dreaming, because she was now fidgeting a little, making small sounds. It was probably a nightmare. And he was probably part of the cause. She bit her lip and he felt his eyes being drawn to her mouth. He had to admit that the times he had thought about her since he’d seen her naked, it hadn’t been her lips that had dominated his fantasies, but right now he found his mind flooding with images involving those lips. Not all of them were about kissing, but for now that would do.

He leaned over her and lowered his head, bracing himself against the bed.

Hermione was dreaming. There had been something about Harry being an accountant, and he’d demanded she settled her debts in apples. Now, she was standing alone in the clearing of a forest, trying to remember how she’d gotten there and what she was supposed to be doing. She was sure she almost knew it, when suddenly everything fell away and this horrible black void was threatening to swallow her. She tried to scream, but no sound came. She tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. She was doomed and she knew it and then… She felt strong arms around her, grounding her, keeping her safe. Warm lips were caressing hers, comforting her. She eagerly accepted the comfort, responding to the kiss. Who her savior was, she couldn’t see; his face was shrouded in shadows. She tentatively raised a hand and ran it through his hair, awed at how real it felt in spite of her not being able to see it clearly enough to even tell its color. She felt an almost forgotten need for more and deepened the kiss. Her savior growled deep in his throat and pulled her closer.

Something was nagging at her, but she pushed it away.

She was safe; she had no need to worry. Her body was tingling and sensitive to the touch and she yearned for her savior to touch her, to bring her closer to that thing she craved so very much. His kiss got more demanding, more urgent, and she sighed against his lips, realizing without surprise that she was dreaming. She wondered how far she could take this before she had to wake up. She tightened her grip on his hair and let the other hand caress his back, again intrigued with how solid he felt. Solid, maybe, but not real. His lips were tracing her jaw and she let her head fall back against something soft, and she felt his breath on her neck only moments before he latched on and sucked, giving her a sweet, exquisite pain that startled her and made her moan aloud with need.

The dreamlike fog scattered and Hermione was left with confusion, a sweet, pulsing ache between her legs, and a very real man above her. She gasped, realizing what was going on.

He pulled back and she could tell he was smirking by the faint light from his wand that he’d placed just outside of her grasp. “Took you long enough,” he mumbled.

“What… What are you doing?” she all but squeaked, scrambling to get away from him.

“I think that should be obvious by now,” he replied. “I daresay you reacted much more favorably than I had thought you would.” The way he looked at her spoke volumes.

Hermione closed her eyes as mortification colored her cheeks. “I was dreaming,” she whispered.

“And what a dream it must have been,” he hoarsely replied.

She didn’t have to look at him to know that the kiss had affected him, too. She could hear the want in his voice. She averted her gaze and refused to look at him again.

He sighed and she felt the bed move as he got off it. “You’re a real tease, you know that, Granger?” he said before he left.


	5. Chapter 5

The mark on her neck wasn’t that bad, Hermione concluded as she was standing in front of the mirror after she had given up getting any more sleep. And it wasn’t as if anyone would see it. Except herself. And him. Hermione closed her eyes and groaned. Encouraging Draco to have his way with her really wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do at all. She didn’t know how she had managed to not wake up while he’d been kissing her, but she’d better sleep lightly from now on. She didn’t want to know where he’d take it if she didn’t.

But the problem was, no matter what she did, he could take it wherever he pleased, whenever he pleased.

_Then why not do it?_  A tiny voice asked.

Hermione was appalled at herself. So, it had felt nice, yes. But dreams were odd like that. She’d once had a highly inappropriate dream about a unicorn that had felt much the same and that didn’t mean anything more than a confused subconscious.

_But,_ the voice persisted.  _He can take you anyway and you know that, soon, he will. So why not brave the inevitable and get him to lower his guard in the process?_

Could she do that? Could she really do that? Could she willingly sleep with the enemy in order to find a way out? She supposed that people had done much worse things over the ages, but the question was: How much was she prepared to sacrifice for her freedom? And, would she even be able to?

***

The next time Draco showed up, he brought her some nightclothes. It reminded Hermione acutely of the night he had kissed her and she looked away, too embarrassed to react. She had sort of made up her mind, but now that he was here, it was so much harder. She felt awkward,  _very_ awkward. She glanced at the lamp. Perhaps it would be easier if it was darker, or—

“What?” he asked.

She jumped. “What what?”

“Why are you fidgeting? Is this because of last time?” he had the audacity to smirk.

“N-no, it’s nothing.” Hermione shook her head.

How  _did_  one do this? Did she just say ‘ok, do whatever you want’ or did she have to… do something? There was apparently no great seductress lost in her. She glanced at him apprehensively and noticed that he was now frowning at her. Oh, that was great. Making him annoyed was sure to get her what she wanted.

“You’re still fidgeting,” he said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Not!”

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can certainly see why they called you the brightest witch of our age.”

Hermione flushed a bright red. Ok, this wasn’t going very well. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“There’s clearly something you want, so out with it, already.”

This would be a good place to blurt it out, so Hermione opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat. Not a sound came. Eventually, she decided to close her mouth again.

He was now looking a bit amused. “What? Do you need some embarrassing female products or something?”

Hermione flushed a bit again but shook her head.

“Then what?”

Her eyes dropped to his lips, noticing their fullness, imagining how they’d felt on hers, and his whole demeanor instantly changed from amused to wary tension.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he breathed.

Hermione didn’t think she could take any more of this. It was a stupid plan anyway; she was far from sure it would have worked, so she just shrugged and turned her back on him, hoping to disguise her mortified look.

She felt his hands on his shoulders a second later, applying a slight pressure to get her to turn.

“Why?” he asked.

That was actually a very good question for him to ask. One that she hadn’t considered.

She shrugged. “M-maybe I just want to.”

He looked singularly unconvinced. “Try again, Granger.”

She looked him defiantly in the eye, although she’d really prefer to hide in a hole. “I’ve been here for close to six weeks, you know,” she said. “A girl has needs.”

“So you expect me to believe that after being away from your lover – still that Weasley, is it? – for six weeks, you will be desperate enough for a shag to throw yourself at a Death Eater?”

“Oh, forget it!” she huffed, trying to free herself from his grip.

“Not on your life, Granger,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what you think you’re up to, but I’ve never been one to let an opportunity like this pass me by…”

She stilled. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? She looked up at him and he was staring at her hungrily. It unsettled her.

“Maybe I don’t want to anymore,” she whispered, suddenly feeling apprehensive.

“Too late for that,” was his reply, as he grabbed her arms tighter and pulled her closer.

Her eyes widened and her heart began hammering in her chest with a mix of arousal and fear. What did he mean, ‘too late’? She struggled against him, but he merely tightened his grip further.

“Stop it,” he hissed. “You wanted it and now you’ve got it.”

She shook her head. “I-I…”

He didn’t allow her to finish the sentence, but covered her mouth with his, sliding one hand up to tangle almost painfully in her hair and another hand down to rest on her waist. When she opened her mouth to object again, he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue inside her mouth.

To her own great horror, Hermione felt her body reacting much as it had when she had been asleep, yet this time she didn’t have the excuse of dreaming. She had never thought herself to be wanton, but right now she was proving herself to be just that, as she sighed against his lips and her arms somehow got around his neck. His kiss turned as hungry as his gaze had been and she knew there was no way to avoid this. She felt panic rising inside of her, but at the same time the adrenaline was heightening her arousal.

She wasn’t supposed to like it. He was not a good guy. He did not care about her and he never would.

His hand that had been on her waist was finding its way up under her sweater and t-shirt to cup her breast through her bra. She moaned at the contact, and she felt him react to it. He broke away from her.

“I take back some of my suspicions,” he mumbled. “You really do want this, don’t you?”

Again, Hermione was acutely embarrassed. “A gentleman wouldn’t comment on that,” she replied.

He chuckled. “I’m not a gentleman. I’m an aristocrat. There’s a difference.”

He grabbed the edge of her sweater and pulled it over her head, doing the same thing with her t-shirt, leaving her in her trousers and a bra. She felt exposed. An idea occurred to her.

“What about you?” she purred, letting her hands slide down his front, hoping to find his wand. If she could just get it from him, then she wouldn’t have to go any further.

His hands caught hers. “I don’t think so,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows at him. He couldn’t  _know_  what she had been thinking… could he? He hadn’t used Legilimency, she knew that much, but perhaps he was merely being cautious.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded.

She glanced over at the bed. She wasn’t too sure that she really wanted to go near it.

“Well, go on,” he said impatiently.

She did as he asked, because there was little else she could do. In the few seconds it took her to go there, he had removed his dark robes, placing them at a safe distance. Underneath his robes he was wearing black trousers and a pale green shirt. Not bad-looking on him at all.

What was she thinking?

_Well, if I’m going to sleep with him, I might as well enjoy it._

No. No, no, no, no.  _No_. Not an option. She would hate every second of it.

He flashed her a feral grin as he moved closer. “No need to look so scared. I won’t hurt you… Unless you want me to?”

She gave him a disgusted look. “Certainly not!”

“It figures that you goody-goody types wouldn’t know how to have fun.”

“Pain is  _not_  fun.”

“You say that now…” He had reached the bed and was now looking hungrily at her breasts in spite of her having crossed her arms protectively over them.

Hermione squirmed uncomfortably. “Look, Malfoy…”

“Unless you’re going to tell me how you want it then forget it,” he interrupted.

She snorted. “As if it matters how I want it.”

He glanced at her face and smirked in his most annoying way. “Ah, but I live to please my pet, hadn’t you noticed?”

“Fine, here’s how I want it: Over. Fast.”

She just couldn’t help herself. Her pride had a really hard time dealing with this predicament. His smirk disappeared and she thought for a second she saw anger flash in his eyes. Then it was gone, carefully hidden behind a mask of indifference, and he shrugged.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were having trouble dealing with what you want.”

She sneered at his too accurate guess. “It’s not you I want, Malfoy. It’s what’s between your legs.”

She couldn’t stand his arrogance and she didn’t know why she’d come up with this inane plan to begin with. He leaned over her and tugged at her legs so she was flat on her back beneath him. “How fortunate. I want what’s between your legs, as well.” Before she could respond to that crass reply, he had bent to claim her mouth again.


	6. Chapter 6

She didn’t stand a chance. His lips, tongue and breath were burning her, making her feel an urgent need to devour him and become devoured in turn. He was leaning his weight on one forearm, while his other hand was grabbing her thigh and startling her as he tugged at her again, making room for him between her legs. When his groin came in contact with hers, she felt a jolt go through her, and she couldn’t stifle a moan. And, God help her, they were still for the most part dressed.

Her hands were now unabashedly roaming his chest and shoulders. He moaned against her mouth and whispered “Take what you want.” She pressed against him and felt a certain satisfaction that his breath caught and came out in a low hiss. She wanted to feel skin now. With hands that were shaking with need, she began undoing the buttons of his shirt. He leaned back a little to allow her room to work, but her hands were shaking too much, and, after a few buttons, he seemed to lose his patience and kneeled to take it off himself. His hands, she noted with some resentment, were perfectly steady.

He noticed her staring at him and smirked. “Patience, Granger. I don’t doubt that the Weasel would be done by now, but I bet I can satisfy you so much better than he ever could.”

Hermione didn’t bother telling him that she and Ron had broken it off years ago. They had always seemed to make better friends than lovers. Instead, she raised her eyebrows. “All talk.” She didn’t doubt the truth of her own words for one second. In her, granted, limited experience, the men who presented themselves as great lovers usually weren’t. Yet, right now, all she could think about was how he’d feel between her legs…

He threw his shirt aside and she stared greedily at his lean form. He chuckled. “You’ll find out, won’t you? I have to tell you… I don’t mind you looking at me like that one bit.”

She flushed pink. She couldn’t help how she was reacting. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t been with anyone in a long time, maybe it was the isolation that had finally made her crazy, or maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t felt this wanted for longer than she even cared to remember. His eyes may not hold adoration, but the pure need that shone in them as he was looking her over was gratifying. So, she might do something entirely wrong for once and enjoy sleeping with the enemy – as long as there weren’t any consequences.

She went rigid as she remembered. “Contraception spell!” she said.

“Taken care of,” he scoffed. “Relax. Like I would allow my offspring to be half-blood.”

She scowled at him, but the point was moot as she didn’t particularly want her offspring to be Malfoy.

He opened her trousers and slipped them down her hips and off, before he opened his own belt. Hermione licked her lips and he halted his movements, staring at her for a second, before shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts and continuing. Hermione smirked to herself; he might have steady hands, but he was definitely affected. Good. She didn’t like to feel entirely powerless.

He got rid of his own trousers and then pressed down on her again. He pushed down her bra and roughly suckled her left nipple. She cried out with surprise from the sudden movement, bucking against him and burying her hands in his hair as she was assaulted by the feeling of slight pain and renewed arousal.

“You don’t want me to be gentle,” he breathed against her breast, before doing the same thing to the other one. “You want a hard, satisfying fuck where I make you come so violently that you forget your own name.”

Hermione whimpered slightly. He was right. She did want that. “I doubt you’re man enough for that,” she managed to force out.

He didn’t reply. Instead he shoved off her remaining clothes and took in her body with her glance. She reached out for his boxers, but he stilled her hand and shook his head. Not yet.

She frowned, unhappy with him calling the shots, and absent-mindedly licked her lips as she thought about what he’d feel like, thrusting into her hard and deep. He saw the gesture and groaned, and then he was kissing her again, thrusting his tongue into her mouth much in an imitation of how she desperately wanted something else to happen. His hand made it down between her legs to find her more than ready.

Draco’s eyes widened slightly as he had half-expected this to be some sort of trick she was pulling. The wetness between her thighs, however, was not a trick. She wanted him to fuck her. That, in turn, made him want to fuck her more. He had thought she might actually turn out to be unwilling, but after the blatant invitation she had given him with that look, he had decided that she had it coming. He might not need to force himself on Mudbloods, but if said Mudblood was a tease who thought she could play him for a fool… Well, then she was asking for it, wasn’t she? He couldn’t allow her to play games with him like that. Anyway, it was more a question of arrogance than morals to begin with, wasn’t it? So he wasn’t terribly bothered by doing what he had to do to establish who was in charge…

But she really did want it. From him. And his own need was rapidly escalating at the thought.

He roughly grabbed a breast and sucked it into his mouth, teasing her taut nipple and tasting her flesh. Her reaction was to dig her nails painfully into his shoulders. “You like that, don’t you?” he mumbled, using his hand between her legs to rub her. Her nails dug in deeper, breaking his skin and pulling outwards. He hissed from the stinging pain and touched her harder, more urgently. The sweet scent of her arousal was drugging him, removing his ability to think.

She pushed against him and he closed his eyes briefly. Willing females definitely did feel good. One of her legs came up, her foot caressing his calf. “Please,” she mumbled against his head. Just that one word. He decided to oblige her.

He pulled back and released himself from his boxers, reveling in the covetous gaze she was sending his way. He briefly wondered if it wasn’t rather sick of him to care whether the Mudblood wanted it or not, but he put it down to mere preference. He preferred women hot and panting, begging him for more, not weeping and struggling and begging him to stop. In fact, he’d never actually done the latter… yet.

He spread her legs wider and let his hand trace her folds. So slick, so ready. He couldn’t wait. Without preamble, he entered her fully in one single thrust.

Hermione’s eyes widened and she gasped at the intrusion. It was not unwelcome, but it was foreign, strange, and a little bit painful. She was not terribly used to this, it had been so long, and he was stretching her impossibly.

His head fell forward and he groaned loudly. “Merlin, Granger,” he panted. “I didn’t think you’d be so tight.”

Neither did she, but perhaps it mattered that it had been a long time? He began moving, and she winced slightly as her body struggled to accommodate him, but at the same time she felt her arousal reach whole new levels. Oh, my, but he felt good. Her eyes drifted shut as she enjoyed the feeling of his none-too-gentle thrusts.

“Open your eyes,” he mumbled in her ear. “Look at me.”

Hesitantly, she did as he asked. His face was slightly flushed with the heat of his own passion and his eyes were burning as they gazed relentlessly into hers. It was hard for her to stay focused. She dug her nails into his back, trying hard to not lose herself in the ride, and taking a perverse pleasure in hurting him.

He made a sound conveying both pain and pleasure and halted his motions just long enough to whisper “Do you want to hurt me because I make you feel good… Or because I make you feel bad?”

She didn’t reply but instead dug her nails in deeper and he laughed a short, breathless laugh and then he began moving faster. Harder. Deeper. Her eyes closed again.

“Open them,” he demanded again. “I won’t let you forget who you’re with.”

She shook her head. How was she supposed to forget that? He was in her, on her, all around her. His body, his scent, his voice… it was intoxicating.

“When you forget your own name,” he whispered, his voice now holding a note of urgency. “You will still remember mine.”

She felt something tensing inside of her. She felt her body striving. She knew she was close.

“Who am I?” he mumbled against ear, never breaking his rhythm. “Who is it that is making you come?”

“M-Malfoy,” she replied, afraid that he’d stop if she didn’t.

“Which Malfoy?” he persisted.

“Draco Malfoy. Please…”

“Who is it that can fulfill your every need?”

“You,” she whimpered.

She was on the brink, and he had to know it, but he was relentless. “Who?”

“Draco M-Mal…”

“What name is all you know when you come?”

“Yours,” she breathed.

“The name, Granger.”

“Dra—“ She broke off on a gasp, but knew he expected an answer. “Draco Malfoy,” she whispered. Oh, this felt like nothing she could remember.

“Again,” he demanded, as he brought a hand in between them, lightly touching her, sending her over the edge.

“ _Draco_ …” she moaned the name as she finally succumbed to her climax, tensing beneath him as wave after wave of ecstasy swept her.

He grunted his approval as he then strived for his own orgasm. Holding back had been slightly more work than he had anticipated and he was so very close. “Fuck, Hermione,” he gasped. He grabbed her hip and changed the angle slightly, making her open more so he could get deeper, right before he made the final thrust, letting loose. He moaned loudly as he came hard in a burst of impossible pleasure. Black spots were dancing in front of his vision and the word ‘intense’ would be an understatement. “Fuck…” he whispered against her throat as she willingly drew him closer and caressed his back. It really had been too long.

Finally, he was spent. There was no better word for it. Still, he had to find the energy to get off her, to get up and leave. Staying would be foolish, even if he didn’t have somewhere to be. She might have given herself willingly – eagerly even, but he couldn’t trust her. He knew he couldn’t, because she couldn’t trust him either. He briefly wondered if it had been wrong of him to bring sex into the equation, but quickly tamped down that thought. It had been inevitable. Now to show her that there would be no way to use it against him…

He slowly got up and then lazily smirked at her. “Thanks. I needed that.”


	7. Chapter 7

His black robes billowing, Draco hurried along the hallways. He couldn’t afford to be more late than he already was. The Dark Lord only had so much patience. Finally, he reached his destination; the grand empty room where Lord Voldemort sat on his throne.

Draco went up before him and kneeled. “You summoned me, my Lord?”

“You are late,” his Master clipped out.

Draco fought back a smirk. Smirking when the Dark Lord was displeased was generally not considered a good career move. “I was dealing with the Mudblood and didn’t want her to become suspicious of my involvement.”

That seemed to mollify the other man. “So things are proceeding after plan, then?”

This time Draco didn’t try and hide his smirk. “Oh, yes, my Lord.”

The serpentine man nodded his approval. “So when will she be ready? I don’t have time for this.”

Draco considered. “Soon. Very soon.”

The Dark Lord nodded and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Draco got up and bowed to his Master, and then he turned to head out. He had other work to do.

***

Hermione was pacing and scowling at the door. It had been 11 meals since Draco had left.  _Thanks, I needed that_ , indeed. That was just rude. Which was odd in itself, because Draco didn’t strike her as stupid. He knew that she would be furious. Perhaps he didn’t care because it was just a one-time thing from his side, in which case it was all pretty much a wasted effort on her part, since there had been no opening for her to act in during or after that one time.

Of course, he could pretty much say or do whatever he pleased, but she hadn’t missed the way he had responded whenever she took some initiative. He liked an enthusiastic bedmate – that was for sure. It probably helped his little ‘world’s greatest lover’ fantasy along when he was able to get a woman off like that.

Boy, had she gotten off. Which was beside the point. Except, part of what was frustrating her was that she  _had_  gotten off. She felt like a whore. She felt worse than a whore; she felt like a traitor. A traitor to herself for enjoying such an intimate act with someone, who would hate someone solely because of the blood coursing through their veins. A traitor to the cause, to the Order and to Harry, her very best friend and their only hope…

Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away. She didn’t have time to be crying now; she had to figure out a way to get out of here. Waiting for Harry would be fatal if that was what Voldemort had in mind. Besides, she had been here close to two months now. She didn’t know why they hadn’t come yet, but maybe it was too hard to get in. She only hoped that she could take them all by surprise and make it easier to get out.

Or, maybe… She froze mid-step as another thought struck her. Maybe Harry had already tried to get in and he had failed, getting himself killed in the process. No, that couldn’t be. If Harry was dead, Voldemort wouldn’t need her for anything anymore, and the last thing Hermione would be seeing was the business end of Draco’s wand.

She swallowed hard at that thought, fully knowing that he would not hesitate in the least if given that order. Sleeping with Draco had wielded absolutely none of the results that she had hoped for. She hadn’t been able to get a hand on his wand or gain any other physical advantage, and she certainly hadn’t gained a mental advantage over him either.

He still held all the cards and she hated it, but, at this point, there was nothing she could do.

***

Even though she was anticipating him, it was a shock when her door finally opened. She jumped and swirled to face him. He merely smirked at her and closed the door behind himself, leaning against it.

“So nervous, Granger… Afraid I might do something you like?”

That made her scowl. “Not a chance, Malfoy!” Did he actually enjoy getting her temper up? Perhaps he did. Perhaps he was the kind to enjoy fights. Well, she didn’t have to fake this bit at all.

He raised an eyebrow. “Malfoy, is it? That’s not what you were moaning last I was here…”

“Yes, well, that was days ago, and I’m feeling less… charitable, today.”

“Feeling neglected, are you?” he asked, his smirk widening.

Hermione resisted the urge to growl.  _What_  exactly had she enjoyed about sleeping with this guy? “More like less in need of your services.”

This didn’t faze him as she had hoped it would have. “Perhaps I’m in need of yours.”

Her lips tightened in a frown. “You’re mistaken if you think I’ll be willing.”

He pushed away from the door and strolled towards her in a leisurely pace. “You’re mistaken if you think that will stop me… Hermione.”

“You wouldn’t.” She shook her head, not quite willing to believe what she knew to be true.

He reached her and placed his hands on her arms, gently rubbing them. His closeness and innocent caress was making her tingly and short of breath, but she tried her best to feign indifference and not give herself away by retreating.

“I would,” he confirmed, lowering his lips to her ear. “I want you and I know that you want me. You proved that to me last time… If I have to make a pretense of raping you before you feel you can give in, then so be it.”

“It wouldn’t be a pre—“ she gasped as his lips were caressing her neck, his tongue trailing the vein where her traitorous pulse could be gauged. Merlin, but she did desire him. In spite of everything, her traitorous body desired his. As the realization struck, she hated herself almost more than she hated him.

He gently nibbled at the place that had made her gasp, feeling her quick pulse and her shallow breaths as she tried to deny the attraction she felt for him. There  _was_  no denying it. It was there. It was tangible. It was making all the blood rush to his groin.

It had been hard to stay away, but he had had to keep his distance in order to prove his control to her and to himself. Yet, now that he was here, he was feeling the control slipping, leaving an all-consuming urge to possess her again. Even as his lips brushed up over her jaw and claimed her luscious mouth, making her whimper and surrender to him, he knew the danger of being controlled by his baser urges in this way. This would be the last time. He had to find another way to make her acquiesce, this plan was going awry.

***

He had come back again. And again. And again. Hermione had not counted the times and she’d also long since lost track of her meals. She could never stay strong against his advances, and, much as she hated to admit it, sleeping with him was worth it just for the pleasure that he never failed to give her. This irked her almost more than the fact that he never let his guard down long enough for her to  _do_  something. Well, until today, anyway.

Hermione slowly inched away from Draco’s sleeping form. She couldn’t believe her own luck. This time, he had actually fallen asleep almost immediately after they had… well, had sex. She had despaired of it ever happening. Although, he had come to visit her more and more frequently lately, it always ended in the exact same way: He got up right after, got dressed and left.

In the beginning, there had usually been some snide remark, but lately he just left. He hardly even looked at her. After last time, she hadn’t seen him for what she had calculated to be about a week. She had thought that maybe he finally had had his fill, until he’d come in tonight, looking exhausted, and had drawn her in and kissed her and touched her with an unprecedented urgency.

She didn’t know what had brought this on, nor would she ever admit to caring, but the fact of the matter was that now he had fallen asleep and she finally had her chance. She moved another inch and froze as he stirred in his sleep.  _Please don’t wake up_ , she thought, as she closely watched him for any sign that he’d do just that. He didn’t. Instead he just turned over, away from her. She let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She finally managed to slip off the bed and then snuck over to where he’d left his robes. She didn’t dare get dressed just yet. Pulling on clothes would take too long and who knew how long she had? She slowly bent and began looking through his robes, but to her great despair she found nothing. He wouldn’t come here wandless, would he?

She turned around and nearly bumped into something that hadn’t been there before. Her face paled as she looked into grey eyes filled with cold fury. He lifted his hand and backhanded her so forcefully that her lip split and she fell to her knees, a cry of pain and surprise escaping her lips. He took a step forward, grabbed her by the hair, and raised his fist as if to hit her again. She cowered, her eyes wide with fear. He looked at her for a few seconds and then made a disgusted sound, pushing her away. She fought despair as she knew she would never get another chance to get away from him now.

He went over and pulled on his clothes, scowling at her. She slowly began to stand but was sharply ordered to stay down. She didn’t dare disobey.

“Looking for this?” he coldly asked, exhibiting his wand.

Hermione didn’t reply, instead she gingerly touched her bleeding lip and looked fearfully up at him. She’d never seen him this angry before, and she didn’t know what exactly he had it in him to do.

“W-what are you going to do?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Since my Lord wants you alive, what I  _should_  do is leave you there and invite a few of my closest friends in here to have a party!”

Hermione’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, no, please don’t!” she said, not caring if she was naked on the floor, begging. “I’ll do anything. Please.”

“So that’s what it takes, is it?” he sneered at her. “Months of niceties are lost on you but one single threat and you’ll do whatever I ask?” He shot her a disgusted look. “Have no fear; I won’t risk you seducing them as well.” His jaw clenched bitterly. “But even if you had managed to kill me and get out past the wards, you wouldn’t have made it far. This place is swarming with Death Eaters. You would have been killed on sight.”

Hermione shook her head. “I wouldn’t have killed you,” she whispered.

“And I’m to believe that? From a self-serving bitch who’ll fuck her warden just to get out of here?” He flung her clothes at her. “Get dressed,” he gritted out. “I don’t ever want to see you naked again.”

He slammed the door hard on his way out.


	8. Chapter 8

He was back only hours later.

Hermione shot off the bed where she had been lying, staring blankly at the page of one of her books. “What are you doing here?” she asked warily, trying to hide her surprise and mounting fear at his quick reappearance.

Draco sneered at her. “I believe I may have treated you too well. You seem to think I need to answer to you,” he said, throwing her a cloak. “Put this on. And keep your head down.”

She looked at him incomprehensively. “Where are we going?”

“For a walk. And don’t get any ideas, you wouldn’t get very far.”

Hesitantly she put the cloak on and he pulled her hood up, hiding her face and her telltale hair, before pulling out his wand and muttering, making her vision go dark.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, princess. I’m not that stupid.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her with him.

She didn’t know where they were going or why, but she really had no choice but to follow him. She had to almost run to keep up with his stride. What was he planning to do? She wasn’t getting a good feeling about this.

Suddenly he stopped. “We’re here,” he muttered. “If you’re smart you won’t attract any attention.” He pulled out his wand again and returned her vision.

Hermione blinked. They were standing in the shadows in the hallway right outside the big empty room where Voldemort had been holding court. Only, right now it was not so empty. A long table had been placed in front of Voldemort, where some of his Death Eaters were having a feast. Most of them looked young, so they must have been recruited recently. His numbers seemed to be growing every day.

Hermione looked questioningly up at Draco, but he just stared straight ahead as if waiting for something, so she turned back. For several minutes nothing happened. The girls serving the Death Eaters were looking downtrodden, but nobody paid them any mind. Hermione was rapidly becoming bored. She glanced at Draco again, but he was still watching impassively. She frowned and turned back. They were just eating. They weren’t doing anything out of the ordinary. She didn’t understand.

Then, as if on someone’s silent command, a struggling woman was brought in and deposited in the middle of the room. The talking died down as everyone was expectantly looking at her. She was quite obviously pregnant. She was also quite obviously scared out of her wits.

Hermione instinctively knew that she wasn’t going to like this. “I want to go,” she whispered, instinctively moving closer to Draco, forgetting that he’d been violent to her only hours ago.

“You’ll stay,” he coldly replied. “And you’ll watch.”

For the first time, since she got there, Voldemort spoke up. “Jensen,” he said, getting the attention of a rather nervous-looking young Death Eater. “I’ve heard about your recent exploits. Why don’t you show this Mudblood what we think of her kind breeding with each other?”

“Me?” the young man asked in a voice that fairly squeaked. There were a few sniggers and smirks from his fellow Death Eaters. Hermione even felt a faint movement from Draco beside her in reaction. She didn’t dare look at his face, though, because she didn’t know how she would handle it if he was amused.

Voldemort merely gestured towards the woman.

The young man got up on legs that were looking a bit unsteady and slowly made his way around the table towards the woman, who was quietly sobbing.

“Why him?” Hermione whispered.

“Because he has displeased our Lord by showing too much kindness towards Mudbloods,” Draco calmly answered, shooting her a warning glance. “He will now do the deed or suffer the consequences. Others at that table, however, would view it as a reward.”

“D-deed?” Hermione asked, too horrified to take her eyes away from what was happening in front of her.

Draco didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. In front of them, the young man was almost green in the face, but he raised his wand at the woman and she let out a bloodcurdling scream as the Cruciatus Curse took effect. Hermione lunged forward and was about to call out, when strong arms grabbed her, a hand covering her mouth.

“Quiet,” Draco hissed. “You don’t want them to notice you; they  _will_  kill you on sight.”

The woman fell down on her knees, her arms hugging her stomach as if to protect the life inside of her. Her screaming went on and on and Hermione couldn’t take it. She struggled against the arms holding her, but it was no good; he wasn’t letting her go.

Then the bleeding began. At first it was just a small red stain between the woman’s legs, but soon it was drenching the woman’s clothes. Some of the Death Eaters looked downright gleeful, and were whispering excitedly, others stared in fascination. Only one or two looked sickened. Voldemort himself was smiling. The woman was now sobbing pitifully and moaning with the pain between screams. Hermione realized that she was crying herself as her vision became blurry. She squirmed in Draco’s arms, managing to turn her back on what was happening, not wanting to know what would happen next and feeling truly helpless for the first time in a very long while.

“Please,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to see any more. Why are you doing this to me? And why aren’t you doing something to help that poor woman?”

He steered her away, deeper into the shadows and looked at her with something that looked a bit like pity. “She was dead the minute she got caught,” he said. “There’s nothing I, or anybody, can do when his mind is made up about something like this.”

“And God forbid that you should actually  _TRY_ ,” Hermione bitterly said, pushing away his hand which was still on her arm. She had nothing but loathing left for him and everything he stood for.

“And what would I do, hm? Barge in there like a madman and get myself killed without making a damn difference? Is that what your precious Potter would do?”

“You have no heart!” she exclaimed loud enough for him to shoot a worried glance towards the room and steer her further away.

“That’s beside the point,” he said when he was finally satisfied with them being out of earshot. Hermione really could care less. If they killed her, at least it would be over.

“What WAS your point? To torment me? To make me hate you? Because, in that case, it was a complete success!”

His eyes glittered angrily. “My point was to show you just what it is you’ve been missing out on. Are you sorry? Would you have preferred to spread your legs for one of those sadists?”

“You’re no better, you never were!” she accused.

He looked very much as if he wanted to strike her again, but he didn’t. Instead, he darkened her vision and hauled off with her. “Believe that if you want,” he mumbled. “But believe me; you don’t want to find out for sure.”

“ _How_  are you any better?” she spat when they were back in the confines of her room and he’d allowed her vision to return.

“I never used an Unforgivable on you… yet!” His eyes were warning her not to overstep. She didn’t care.

“So what if you didn’t? You hit me!”

“ _Once_ , and I had damn good reason. Some might argue I had plenty of reason to beat you senseless!”

“What? I displeased you? Is that damn good reason in the world of the sick and twisted?”

“I gave you but a smidgen of trust and you abused it! You were going to murder me in my sleep and hightail it out of here!”

“I  _told_  you, I was not going to kill you!”

“Even if you weren’t, do you really think I would really have survived letting you escape? The Dark Lord wanted you for a reason and Merlin help anyone who’d get in the way of that.”

Hermione faltered. She hadn’t thought of that. She had just thought about getting out of there. “Y-you wouldn’t be running those risks if you were on the right side in this,” she said.

He glared at her. “I  _am_  on the right side in this. The winning side. I’m not about to become a turncoat and go down for some stupid cause I don’t believe in, so forget about trying to manipulate me again,  _Mudblood._ ”

She didn’t know what to reply to that and with a sneer he turned and stalked out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione was at her wits’ end. She really was. She could see no way out and apparently Harry could see no way in. She was afraid that, any day now, Voldemort would remember her and decide she wasn’t worth keeping. She didn’t want to die. In fact, she very much wanted to live. Her only way of survival would be to somehow get Draco to help her, which, at this point, seemed highly unlikely.

If she couldn’t use her body anymore and she couldn’t appeal to his conscience, then what was there? Greed? He was rich, as far as she knew, so why would he care for money? But then again, it always seemed like it was the ones who had money who wanted more… The point was really moot. She hadn’t access to the amount of galleons that a bribe would take. Power? Yes, he seemed to be a true Malfoy in that respect. She very much suspected that it was this need for power that had him doing his Lord’s bidding. Perhaps, if she could convince him that the Order wasn’t doing as poorly as he seemed to think… But how could she do that without betraying any secrets? And what would then happen? He obviously wasn’t about to change his opinion about the one matter that lay at the heart of it all – blood status.

It stung a bit. Somewhere along the line his act had worked and she had come to believe that he didn’t truly hate her. It was hard for her to understand how he could be so passionate about sleeping with her without caring one whit if she lived or died. She knew, of course, that sex was not love. She knew that sex was not even liking. It had just always been so… intense. So invigorating. Perhaps it was simply a matter of her circumstances. Yet, he’d said he’d felt betrayed by her. If he didn’t feel anything, then how could he feel betrayed?

She shook her head and went to her bed. She felt so confused.

Before she could lie down, the door swung open and Draco was striding in. This was odd; it could barely have been more than a day. He looked thoroughly harassed.

“What now?” she warily asked when he didn’t greet her but just began pacing.

“Things…” he mumbled, shaking his head. “Things just got out of hand.”

“How? What do you mean?” she asked, feeling alarmed and hopeful at the same time. Had they come for her?

He shot her a glance. “He’s not coming,” he said as if guessing her thoughts. “None of them are. They never intended to.”

Hermione was taken aback by this. “You’re lying. Of course they intended to come for me.”

“That’s what we thought. That either we could get him or we could turn you. But since you don’t respond as favorably to kindness as I had thought, I now have but a few options. The most obvious being to torture you into a speedy submission, which is what  _he_  wants.”

“I don’t believe you,” she scoffed. “This is another one of your tricks. I’m not telling you anything.”

He stopped to stare at her. “Are you insane?” he asked. “You don’t believe that I would do what I have to in order to save my own hide?”

“No, I believe that,” she said. “And it is what you’ll have to do. What I don’t believe is that nobody cares about me being here.”

He just kept staring at her for a minute, and then he went back out the door mumbling at her to stay put. Hermione blinked. That was different from what she’d expected and… Where would she go? He was back shortly, carrying a stone basin that Hermione instantly recognized for what it was: a Pensieve. She warily edged away from him.

He glanced at her and snorted. “Relax, Granger. I can’t take your memories like this.” He put the basin down on her desk. “And you seem to have taken to Occlumency well enough to resist the Dark Lord himself, so Legilimency has been out of the question for a while.”

“Then what do you need that for?” she asked.

He touched his temple with his wand and pulled out a silver strand that he placed in the Pensieve. “I’m proving something. Look.”

She shot him a guarded look. “It’s a trick.”

“No trick,” he said, holding up his hands and going over to sit down in his armchair. “But do hurry. I haven’t got all night.”

She slowly edged towards the Pensieve, keeping an eye on him. He didn’t move or speak, but merely watched her thoughtfully. Finally curiosity got the better of her and she leaned down to enter the memory.

_It was almost pitch dark. Draco was standing alone in the shadows of the woods, his hood drawn to hide his eerily pale hair and face. His eyes were intently focused on what was happening in the clearing in front of him. Two males were talking, arguing even. Hermione gasped as she recognized them. It was Harry and Ron and neither of them were looking too happy. They were so consumed with the argument that they hadn’t noticed the Death Eater listening in on their conversation._

_“We know she’s alive!” Ron was saying. “We know they have her trapped at their headquarters. We even know roughly in what room! Why can’t we go get her? It’s been weeks! We don’t know what they’ve been doing to her, what kind of horrible—“_

_“It’s a trap, Ron!” Harry interjected. “You know I love her as much as you do, but we can’t afford to play into their hands. Who knows how many would be killed in the process?”_

_“So, that’s it, then? We just leave her there to DIE?”_

_“Hermione knew the risks. She ALWAYS knew the risks! She wouldn’t want us to lose the war trying to save her.”_

_“You’ve changed, Harry. There was a time you would have risked anything to save a friend.”_

_“I don’t have that luxury anymore, Ron! Half the Order is dead and the other half is losing heart.”_

_“Yes, and I wonder why with such a brilliant and devoted leader!” Ron spat before he stormed off._

_Harry stood, for a while looking after his friend, before he sat down on a stump, covering his face with his hands. “I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he whispered, as his shoulders started shaking._

Hermione stumbled back out of the memory, her vision blurry and her legs refusing to carry her. Unwelcome arms caught her as she collapsed.

“I-it’s a trick,” she whispered, shaking her head, knowing the truth.

“You know it isn’t,” he said.

“How would you know where they were? Why wouldn’t you kill them if you did?”

“It was recon. It wasn’t my job to kill them, and I probably wouldn’t have survived if I had tried.”

“Nobody’s coming,” she mumbled to herself.

“Nobody’s coming,” he agreed, helping her over to her bed.

“W-when you kill me, is there any way you could let them know?” she asked, the tears slowly sliding down her cheeks. “So they can stop worrying about me.”

He whipped up straight. “ _THAT_  is what you ask of me? To reassure two gits that don’t even care enough to come for you that you’ve found peace when you’re  _dead_?”

She slowly nodded. “They were right. I did know the risks. I chose to ignore them.”

“You don’t have to die,” he hissed. “If you help us, he’ll let you live.”

She shook her head. “I’m never betraying them,” she said, a kind of apathy come over her.

“You ARE insane!” he stated, his eyes growing wild.

She blithely smiled through her tears. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Hermione,” he said, his eyes and voice betraying an increasing panic. “Don’t make me do this!”

“I’m ready when you are,” was all she said.

He slowly raised his wand at her. She didn’t even flinch. For a long moment they were just staring into each others’ eyes. He ran his free hand through his hair, making him look disheveled for the first time she could remember without there being sex involved.

“Please reconsider,” he whispered.

She shook her head and closed her eyes. For the longest time nothing happened and then she heard the door slam.


	10. Chapter 10

This time, waiting for Draco to come back was one of the hardest things Hermione ever had had to do. Making your peace with the fact that you are about to suffer and die is one thing. Staying strong and brave through a long and lonely wait is another thing entirely. She wasn’t sure if keeping her waiting was an intentional way of torturing her or if he honestly cared about her and needed time to collect himself. Somehow, she minded it less when he was the one who had to do it, though. She felt certain that he wouldn’t draw it out unnecessarily.

When he did come back, he was looking pale and haunted, and from the way he was scowling at her, you should think that she was the one who had been having him at wandpoint.

“I don’t know what it is you think you’re doing,” he said, dumping some dark garments next to her on her bed. “Being so bloody stubborn. You could just pretend to cooperate. Aren’t you supposed to be smart?”

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t keep me alive for long, would it? And you said it yourself: They aren’t coming for me.”

“So, that’s it?” he growled, leaning towards her. “You just give up and commit suicide? Bloody brilliant.”

She shrugged. “I’ve had a good run in this war. I’m getting tired.”

“We’re not even twenty-five!” he exclaimed, sounding appalled. When she was about to reply, he held up his hand. “Don’t bother. Put that on.” He gestured towards the garments.

She reached out to find a set of robes and a cloak much like the one she had worn when he had taken her to watch the cruciating. Was that his new way of torturing her? To make her watch others being tortured, maybe even giving her the power to stop it? She paled. If that was the case, she wouldn’t be able to stand it.

“What… what do I need this for?” she asked. “Where are we going?”

“Out. Put it on or I’ll put it on for you,” he threatened in a voice that promised that that wouldn’t be a pleasant experience at all. When he saw the look on her face, he added, “I’m not taking you  _there_  again, we’re just going out.”

She did as he asked. Again he pulled up her cloak’s hood so she wouldn’t be recognized.

“When we walk,” he mumbled. “Try to walk like you own the place, but keep your face hidden. And remember: don’t get any ideas!"

He steered her out the door and she let him, but when they were outside he let her go and she was left to follow on her own accord. It didn’t even occur to her not to. It also took several minutes for it to occur to her that he hadn’t blocked out her vision either. This could only mean that he didn’t mean for them to go back. A chill touched her spine.

He took her through long hallways; taking a turn every time they heard voices ahead, so only once did they have to pass someone else. The others nodded at Draco, but didn’t spare her a glance, and he seemed to relax a bit. She briefly wondered why he cared, but thrust it aside. Who knew how Death Eater relations worked? Then they were outside and he was taking her away from the building. She ventured her first real glance at the place and gasped. It was huge, almost like a castle.

“Don’t stare at the place,” he hissed. “Come along, now.”

“Where—“

“Shut up and you’ll see!” His mood seemed to be deteriorating rapidly the further away they were going. And, she realized, they were going rather far. He just kept walking until the building was out of sight.

“What—“ she tried again, as he stopped, but he cut her off by grabbing her arm and, without warning, Disapparating with her.

She stumbled as they reappeared at the edge of a forest. He was gazing pensively at it for a second and then, without preamble, he pulled her close and kissed her. His lips hungrily moved over hers, and when she gasped with surprise, he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer. Then he roughly thrust her away again. Confused didn’t begin to describe what she was feeling.

“Go that way,” he said, pointing to the east. “Your friends will have guards out. Or, they should.”

“W-what?” she asked, feeling like a complete ninny for not understanding what was going on.

“It’s not that hard to understand, Granger. You win. I’m letting you go.” Hermione swallowed, her gaze flickering to the forest and then back to the blond man in front of her. “Go on,” he said again. “It’s not a trick. It’s the same place you saw in my memory, it’s their – your – new headquarters somewhere in there. This was as close as I could bring you. I’m not about to become a sitting duck for them and, besides, they have wards up all over the place.”

Hermione felt a little dizzy. “What about you?” she weakly asked. “If it’s true that this is not a trick, then you can’t go back.”

He smirked at her cynically. “I know.”

“You can’t go back to Malfoy Manor, either.”

“I know.”

“There’s no—“

“I  _know_ , Granger,” he bit out. “So why don’t you just get your bushy head out of my sight already!” He turned his back on her, but she grabbed his arm before he could Disapparate. He glared at her hand.

“You can come with me,” she said.

He rewarded that suggestion with a mocking smirk. “Oh, yes. Why don’t you give them my head on a silver platter while you’re at it? Nothing’s ever enough for you, is it?”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t let them hurt you.”

He sighed. “And why would they trust me, Granger? Why would  _you_  trust me? I don’t want to be spending the rest of my – very limited – days sucking up to Potter to prove that I’ve  _changed_.” The last word came out loaded with disgust.

“You have nowhere else to go,” she insisted. “And whether you believe it or not I think you  _have_  changed. You’re setting me free, aren’t you?”

He looked up into her eyes, the intensity in his startling her. “I would manage. I’ve been in tough spots before. I have no reason to come with you… Do I?” His gaze was unwavering, asking her… something…

Hermione felt her face heat up and she was unable to keep the eye contact. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you don’t,” he sarcastically said. “So, if you’ll just let go—“

“Wait!” she said, grabbing him even firmer when he tried to extricate himself from her hand. “You do!” She couldn’t allow him to just wander off to some uncertain fate, she just couldn’t.

He sighed at her again. “This level of pity you’re exhibiting is just… pitiful, Granger. Now, let go of me.”

“Never,” she whispered.

His head jerked up from where he’d been frowning at her hand, shock evident on his features. “You don’t mean that,” he quietly said. “Stop messing around. You don’t want this.”

“I do. Please come with me.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why should I come with you, Hermione?”

She cringed. “For Goodness sake, Draco! You can’t just put me on the spot like this!”

“Oh, I think I’ve earned the right, don’t you?” he asked mockingly.

“I don’t know what it is you want me to say!” she hedged.

“But you do.”

“I have feelings for you, ok? I can’t stand not knowing what’s to become of you!”

For a moment he looked inscrutable as he was processing this.

“You really want me to come along, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” she confirmed in a low whisper.

For a second she thought she saw regret on his face, but then it was gone.

“I might come with you, then,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow. “Might?”

“Well, that depends…” he mumbled as he drew her closer, “whether you kiss me again.”

She did. She pulled down his head and ran her hands through his hair, as she ran her lips over his, kissing him deeply and passionately. She pressed against him, reveling in the taste and feel that was him… until he pushed her away. She frowned at him, unhappy about the loss of contact and about to ask why he’d done that, when she noticed his flushed cheeks and the heat in his eyes. She suppressed a giggle and smirked instead. No, he wasn’t indifferent to her, either.

“I’m going to have my hands full, it seems,” he mumbled, as he took her hand and lead her in to the forest. This time she didn’t suppress the giggle.

Draco turned his face slightly to hide his frown. He had really wanted to just let her go. He had wished to fail this mission. He almost had. She was  _the_  Mudblood Granger; he shouldn’t care if he was using her, abusing her feelings, to get what he wanted. To get what his Lord wanted. He shouldn’t feel so damn dirty. He suppressed a growl that was threatening to erupt from low in his throat. Soon, he’d be done and it would be over. Soon, he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye anymore. Soon… He felt her hand in his and briefly closed his eyes, trying to will away the guilt. He had been successful. She had feelings for him, she would rebuff any suspicions about him and… the Dark Lord would finally have his spy in the Order.


End file.
